The Death of Johnny Madrid
by Carla K
Summary: A confrontation in a saloon changes Johnny's life forever


The Death of Johnny Madrid  
  
A Lancer Story by Carla Keehn  
  
This story is written for entertainment purposes only, not profit, and is  
not meant to infringe on any existing copyrights  
  
* * * *  
  
The man stared morosely at the moth eaten tapestry on the wall in front of him as he drained the last dregs from the shot glass. He swallowed hard as the rot gut whiskey spread like a fire in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Unable to shake the feeling of tension that had his nerves set on edge, the man hunched forward, so deep in thought that he was unaware of the din created by the saloon's rowdy clientele.  
  
"Give me another bottle." His voice was hoarse and menacing.  
  
The saloon owner paused, sizing up the young man in front of him. His customer had had too much to drink already and the burly businessman was momentarily tempted to say so. But something about the way the man carried himself frightened him. Frightened him enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being.  
  
The saloon owner slapped the full bottle of the amber liquid down on the bar and collected the coins that the man tossed at him without a word.  
  
Another bottle . . . another glass . . . The young man sighed heavily. How much, he wondered, will it take before I'm too numb to feel . . .  
  
His hand shook as it reached for the bottle. Was that because the alcohol was taking a hold of his insides or was the enormity of what he was running from finally hitting home?  
  
Running . . . He'd been running all of his life - from the poverty of his youth, his violent past and now from the people that he cared about.  
  
Johnny Lancer took a deep breath, forcefully willing the shaking to stop. This is the last time . . . he vowed silently. The last time that I'm going to let the past poison my future . . .  
  
As he fought to work out the answers to his turmoil, a familiar voice interrupted Lancer's troubled thoughts.  
  
"Johnny?" The voice was heavy with concern.  
  
Johnny Madrid drained the glass. The moment that he'd been hoping, no praying, could be avoided was upon him. He steeled his nerve - he'd deal with his brother, just like he dealt with the other challenges that the young gunslinger had faced in his life.  
  
"Get out." Madrid spat the terse words out, hoping that his brother would realize by his tone how useless talking would be.  
  
"No, Johnny," Scott replied in a steady voice. "Not until you explain what's happening to you - not until you tell me why . . ."  
  
He stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. It pained Scott to think about effect the change in Johnny's behavior and his brother's surprise departure from the ranch had had on the family.  
  
Scott's mind reviewed the events of the past week, searching without hope for some clue, some event that he'd missed.  
  
It had been a normal summer for the busy Lancer ranch. Normal until a two weeks ago when, without warning, Johnny had become withdrawn and hostile to the family. And then . . .  
  
Then two days earlier, Johnny had announced that he was leaving. Despite his and Theresa's pleas to stay and Murdoch's rage, Johnny packed a few belongings and rode into town, settling in one of the rooms over the saloon.  
  
Scott shook himself from his revelries and continued speaking. "You can't just walk out of our lives like this, not without an explanation -- you owe us that much."  
  
Madrid turned to face his blond-haired brother with evident disdain. "Okay, you asked for it."  
  
Scott tensed nervously as he waited for his brother to continue.  
  
All eyes in the saloon were now focused on the two men. Aware of the attention that they were drawing, Johnny dragged out the moment of anticipation, prolonging his brother's discomfort. "I've had it with the ranch. It goes against the grain for a man like me to depend on anyone else but myself. I don't need a handout, not from you, from Murdoch - not from anyone. Johnny Madrid can take care of himself."  
  
Madrid . . .The name his brother had used for so many years, before he found Lancer, before he found his family. Scott shook his head in disbelief. He and Johnny had worked side by side at the ranch, united in their efforts to make the Lancer family prosperous. They'd shared so much in the past year - joys and trials. The words that he'd just heard didn't agree with the brother that he'd grown closer too over that period of time.  
  
"I don't believe that - no one else will either." Scott grabbed Johnny's shoulder, fighting the urge to shake some sense into the younger man. "What about Murdoch and Theresa? Doesn't it matter at all how they feel? We all care about you, Johnny - no one will believe that the past year has been a lie, that you didn't care about us at all!"  
  
Madrid shook himself free, his gun hand flexing over the holster at his side.  
  
"Believe it, Boston," he growled. "Now get out - -"  
  
The gun stood between the two brothers. The saloon patrons reacted nervously, abandoning their tables to take cover on the other side of the room.  
  
"This is the last warning you'll get," Johnny continued. "So get out and don't come back. 'If you show your face around here again, you're gonna be wearing one of these bullets."  
  
Scott swallowed hard. He had little doubt of the sincerity of his brother's threat. "All right, Johnny, I'll go. But this isn't the end of it, I swear. I don't believe you've changed - and I'll prove it. Even if it means dying in the process."  
  
Johnny smiled maliciously. "That's your choice, Lancer - no one has ever gotten the best of Johnny Madrid in a fight- you remember that - -"  
  
The venomous words uttered by Johnny caused Scott to flinch slightly. Johnny watched his brother holster the gun before turning back to the bar. The saloon owner eyed the two men nervously, his hand shaking as he poured a refill into the gunslinger's glass.  
  
Madrid heard the roughly hewn double doors of the saloon slam as he downed the contents of the glass. Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Johnny threw the glass at the wall in front of him. The saloon owner watched in fear as the glass shattered.  
  
"Give me another bottle," Johnny demanded. He was through drinking at the bar. "Did you line up that girl, the one I pointed out to you earlier?"  
  
The saloon owner nodded nervously. "S-She's waiting for you, upstairs, just like you wanted."  
  
Madrid gave the man a curt nod. He picked up the bottle and strode across the room, enjoying the attention he was garnering.  
  
Whiskey . . . the attentions of a woman . . . Maybe the combination of the two would give Johnny Madrid the relief he desperately sought . . . would help him forget the confrontation that he'd just had and the look of pain etched into his brother's face . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
Hours later, the last rays of sunlight were dipping low in the horizon when Scott arrived back at the Lancer homestead. Still astride his horse, he paused, his eyes scanning the vista around him, as if in search for the answers to the many problems that tugged at his insides.  
  
Scott sighed heavily; earlier in the day, he'd been so sure that he could talk some sense into his brother and that the two would be returning home together. But in spite of his best intentions, he was returning alone. And empty handed, his questions about Johnny's inexplicable behavior unanswered.  
  
Despite the welcoming glow of light from the windows, Scott dreaded going into the house. Going in to face Murdoch's fury . . . Theresa's tears . . .  
  
For a moment, anger began to outweigh Scott's concern for Johnny. It hurt to see his family torn apart and not knowing why made the pain that much worse.  
  
The eldest Lancer son drew himself up for the challenge ahead. Best to go in and get it over with . . . he thought summoning his courage. Later, he'd make plans. Scott's jaw set in determination. He'd make good on his promise to find out what was responsible for his brother's actions . . . no matter what the cost . . .  
  
At the same time, in town, Johnny Madrid carelessly tossed the wad of folded currency at the disheveled woman in front of him.  
  
"You can go," he ordered as he finished dressing. "If I need you again, I'll let your boss know."  
  
The woman tucked the money into her blouse. "Don't bother," she said saucily. "I don't go for the cold ones, no matter how much money is in it for me!"  
  
Madrid watched in amusement as the woman turned and left, the door slamming loudly behind her. The whiskey was finally kicking in, making him feel better than he'd felt in hours. That and the afternoon's pleasures had somehow given him the strength that he needed for what lay ahead for him that evening.  
  
He glanced out the window, at the clock in the center of town. Nearly 7 o'clock . . . he mused thoughtfully. Just enough time to get something to eat before tending to the business appointment that he had downstairs.  
  
Madrid buckled the holster around his waist then checked his gun carefully. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use the gun, but a man in his occupation always had to be careful.  
  
He paused at the door, overcome by a sense of unanticipated homesickness. At the ranch, the family was probably finishing up one of Theresa's home cooked meals and settling down for the night. For a moment he could smell the aroma of the food and feel the warmth of affection that enfolded the members of the Lancer household.  
  
It was a moment that quickly passed. A part of his past that was best not revisited, at least not now. Johnny's eyes flickered around the seedy room with its tacky gold wallpaper and cheap furnishings. How different his life was now . . .  
  
Scott's words tugged at him again. I don't believe you've changed - and I'll prove it. Even if it means dying in the process . . .  
  
If only he could tell Scott the truth about what was happening. If only he didn't have to face what lay ahead alone - -  
  
Madrid took a ragged breath. He knew going in that he couldn't share what he knew with anyone, that he had to handle the situation alone. He cared too much for Murdoch and the others to risk having something happen to them.  
  
His steely composure was back in place. Madrid absently flexed his gun hand. He wasn't afraid to let his weapon do the talking for him. A gunfighter has no friends - or family . . . He had to keep reminding himself of that, especially where Scott was concerned.  
  
Besides it was too late for regrets. After tonight, everyone's questions will be answered . . . Johnny thought. He prayed that he'd be alive when the dawn came to see that happen . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
The family meeting was worse than Scott had anticipated. Theresa, eyes red and swollen, had refused to believe Scott's account of his meeting with Johnny. Murdoch was worse. His anger, having risen to a fever pitch, was unable to speak at all, except for some curt remarks about the quality of the meal. Stung by Murdoch's cutting words, Theresa had retreated from the table in a torrent of fresh tears, despite Scott's pleadings to both of them to remain calm.  
  
Later, still searching for answers, Scott paced the floor of his bedroom. The turbulent emotions that were raging inside had left him feeling like a caged animal.  
  
The pacing stopped. Scott listened for a moment to the uneasy silence in the house as the family settled down for the night.  
  
His eyes fluttered around the room. The coming night promised no rest for Scott Lancer. Sleep would elude him as it had for so many nights during the past week.  
  
Fatigue tugged at him. He sighed heavily. Scott knew that the heated scene at dinner that night was only one of many to come - bit by bit, his family would be torn further and further apart unless he could provide some answers for his brother's behavior.  
  
There was only one avenue open to him. Scott reached for the gun belt that he'd earlier tossed onto the bed.  
  
There's no other way . . .he thought, girding himself for the unpleasant task in front of him. I have to settle this with Johnny tonight . . .  
  
Scott swallowed hard. Like it or not, he'd have to start his search for answers at the Sheriff's office. For a moment, a feeling of self-hatred rose up inside of him. It tore at Scott to doubt his brother but he couldn't ignore Johnny's former life as a gunfighter. Of all the things that the Lancer brothers had shared with each other, it was the past that Johnny had been the most reluctant to share details of.  
  
That's the only reason that explains why Johnny's acting this way . . . Scott prayed silently. Something from the past that's come back to haunt him . . .  
  
The oldest Lancer son balled his fists. If Johnny's problem was the past, why didn't his brother come to him for help instead of shutting everyone out?  
  
Scott fingered the gun belt as he gave careful thought to what might lay ahead. He was no match for Johnny's skill with a gun.  
  
There must be a way to resolve things peacefully . . . Scott's thoughts took a dark turn. He didn't dare risk a confrontation with Johnny - Murdoch would forever be a broken man if something happened to either one of his sons.  
  
He savagely pushed those thoughts away. With renewed determination, the armed man hastily left the room, the door slamming behind him . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
The saloon was a beehive of activity. Johnny Madrid leaned back in his chair, carefully studying the other men who were with him at the table.  
  
Johnny struggled for a moment to remember the time when running with such a group of men was a normal way of life for him. It was a painful reminder of the youth that he'd wasted. He realized, at that moment, how far he'd come in the last year and how much of his old that he'd left behind.  
  
Shoving those thoughts aside, Madrid slowly drained the last of the acrid liquid from his shot glass.  
  
"You ready to talk business now?"  
  
The man sitting on Johnny's right shook his head grimly. His leathery skin contorted in grim pleasure and his lips smacked appreciatively, enjoying the last taste of the whiskey.  
  
"Not yet." The man fingered the shot glass absently while he spoke. "You talk a good talk but we ain't convinced that what you're sayin' is true."  
  
"You calling me a liar?" Johnny's hand wandered down, coming to rest on the holstered gun at his side.  
  
The outlaw's subtle movement wasn't wasted on the group. Several of the others quietly slid their chairs back, ready to answer Johnny's challenge.  
  
"Now hold on a minute," the man continued. "Ain't no cause for anyone to get hot tempered." He stared down his men and the tension ebbed just as quickly as it had flared. The man's eyes narrowed on Johnny as he spoke. "Any fool knows that it's a liar's game. And no one knows how to play that game better than those of us on the wrong side of the law."  
  
Johnny remained tense. "No one accuses me of being a liar and gets away with it. I'll let it pass - - this time - - because there's something I want. And I need you to get it."  
  
The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Now that's what's got us to doubtin' what you say. Why you'd walk way from bein' the son of that well heeled rancher? Seems to me that a man wouldn't need to be dealin' on the wrong side of the law when he's sittin' in a place like that."  
  
Madrid settled back, a wry smile tugging at his face. "As you said, friend, it's a liar's game. In this case, it was a losing game, at least as long as Murdoch's other son is alive."  
  
There was a murmur of agreement among the others. The man looked at the others, finding humor in Madrid's words. "Hell, that's easy enough to fix, if a man's of a mind to do that."  
  
Johnny poured another round of drinks. "Not without attracting attention. Questions would be asked that might delay my getting what I want."  
  
The leader's weathered features grew dour. "That's all well and good but somethin' about you don't sit well with us. That's why we didn't let you in on the deal from the start."  
  
"I know, that's why I set up this meeting." Johnny replied grimly. "You were stupid to think that you'd be able to pull off a job like this without my hearing about it."  
  
"A man's gotta look out for himself. Wasn't no reason to cut you in, not when we wasn't sure where you stood on things."  
  
"Now you're sure," Johnny's cold eyes flickered around the table. "Way I see it, you don't have a choice - if you don't cut me in, the only thing you'll be seeing is the inside of the local jail." A cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It'd be my duty, as a good citizen, to let the Sheriff know that you were planning a murder."  
  
A round of laughter broke out. "How do we know that you ain't planning to double cross us?" The man leaned in, eager to take in Johnny's reaction to his question. "We all know your reputation, Madrid. We ain't gonna take the blame for killin' Murdoch and leave you with the spoils."  
  
"There's no guarantees - just like I can't be sure that you won't double cross me." Madrid's eyes bore into the man's. "Murdoch Lancer put too high a price on the bounty. I was born on the wrong side of the law and no amount of money can change a man's insides. I got tired of trying to live up to the old man's expectations - taking what I want is the only way."  
  
Madrid slammed the half-full bottle down in the center of the table.  
  
"That's enough talk," he finished in a steely voice. "Either we have a deal or I go to the sheriff . . ."  
  
A few streets away, the last of Scott's patience had evaporated. Frustrated, the oldest Lancer son peered into the Sheriff's office, his eyes searching the dark room.  
  
"Damn . . ." he muttered, shaking the locked door until it gave a loud rattle of protest.  
  
Scott heard a sound and turned. He glanced up at one of the windows of the boarding house that was across the street and saw a curious face peering down at him. Scott scowled in disgust.  
  
That settles it . . .Time was wasting and he was no closer to resolving the situation with Johnny.  
  
The wind rose up, bringing with it the tinkling sound of the saloon's player piano.  
  
With the Sheriff no where to be found, there was only one option left open. The wind gently buffeted him, as if in agreement.  
  
Scott turned and began walking towards the sound of the music . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
Tense expectation hung heavily in the air as a result of Johnny's ultimatum.  
  
Madrid's eyes searched the room while the leader of his former gang struggled to maintain some semblance of order at the table.  
  
The edginess that Johnny felt grew worse. His view came to a brief rest first on the back corner of the saloon, then on the men hunched over the bar.  
  
They're not here . . . Madrid thought grimly as his eyes continued to sort through the Saturday night revelers. A bad omen that Johnny hoped wasn't a harbinger of further problems.  
  
He sucked in a shaky breath. The tough façade that he wore returned. "Well," Johnny demanded curtly. "Are you in or not?"  
  
The older man's eyes narrowed. "That depends on what happens afterwards, don't it? What's our cut - and when do we get it?"  
  
"Same as when we rode before - my seventy, your thirty. Whatever cash is on hand is yours, the rest'll be settled later, after the estate is probated."  
  
The man's head bobbed thoughtfully. "What about the girl, Murdoch's ward? She part of the deal?"  
  
"No," Johnny replied forcefully. "No one touches her but me. She's part of what I've been waiting for, in addition to all that money."  
  
The others leered in anticipation at the images evoked by Johnny's response. A sick feeling spread through Johnny's insides at the thought of any of the gang members touching Theresa.  
  
"You drive a hard bargain, Madrid," the older man began.  
  
"It's the only deal you're gonna get," Johnny spat.  
  
There was a brief murmur around the table and the deal was made.  
  
"You got a deal, Madrid." The older man agreed.  
  
The saloon doors opened and the conversation lagged for a moment. The older man's eyes lit up, and then he began speaking again.  
  
"Well, looks like we can take care of one your problems right now." He caught Johnny's eye and nodded towards the bar.  
  
Johnny followed the man's lead. He could tell by the way Scott was hunched against the bar that his brother was in no mood for talking.  
  
Madrid cursed silently to himself. Two weeks worth of planning shot to hell . . . Johnny thought.  
  
Two weeks . . . It had only been two weeks earlier that Johnny had received word through his old connections about the plot to kill Murdoch and whoever else might get in the way of collecting the Lancer assets. Although the Lancers weren't ones to flaunt their wealth, the enormity of their holdings made the family an attractive target, especially to the more desperate in the territory.  
  
The plan devised by the sheriff had, at first, seemed simple. Johnny would pretend to turn away from the family and join in the plot, allowing the sheriff and his men to move in later on and make the arrests.  
  
Simple . . . How wrong he'd been. He never bargained on the pain that would be caused when he walked away from the ranch. Not only to the family but also to himself. There was a time when Johnny Madrid had cared for nothing other than to satisfy his material desires. It wasn't until he'd left the ranch that Johnny realized just how much he'd changed . . .  
  
A taunting voice from beside him drew his thoughts to the present.  
  
"Well, Madrid," the leader continued. "You gonna take him out? Wouldn't look good for one of us to do it."  
  
Johnny nodded wordlessly. He'd have to play the drama out for as long as he could, until the Sheriff and his men arrived. Johnny's chair slid back, the legs loudly scraping the roughly hewn floors. The sound caused a silence to fall over the room.  
  
The men at the table with Johnny tensed, ready for whatever was to come.  
  
The saloon patrons scurried to clear a path for Madrid as he rose to his feet to face his brother at the bar.  
  
"Your hearing isn't too good, Lancer," Johnny said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that settled around them. "I told you not to show your face around here again."  
  
"I heard you," Scott replied, swallowing hard. "I just didn't believe it, just like I don't believe anything else that I've heard you say lately."  
  
Madrid laughed. "You've got guts, Lancer, I'll give you that. Not too many men would be brave enough to talk to me that way. Not if they were interested in continuing to live."  
  
"Johnny . . ." For a moment, Scott was at a loss for words. He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his brow as he realized that everyone's attention was now focused on the two brothers. This wasn't how he wanted to settle things. "Don't do this . . ."  
  
"Go on, Lancer. Beg me to spare you - others have. It didn't do them any good but it amuses me."  
  
Madrid's keenly honed outlaw senses continued to be fed by his brother's nervousness. He'd be able to control the situation again, if he could convince Scott to back down. His hand hovered menacingly over the hilt of his weapon.  
  
Johnny continued speaking with forced authority. "I think that it's time for someone to teach you a very important lesson, rich boy. No man defies Johnny Madrid and lives to tell about it - -No man - -"  
  
Forgive me, brother . . . Johnny agonized. I have to do this, to save you - - to save us all . . .  
  
The gun was out of his holster in the blink of an eye. Several of the saloon girls shrieked in fear; others recoiled, desperately looking for shelter from what seemed the inevitable gunplay.  
  
Then the roughly hewn doors burst open and the Sheriff and his deputies poured in the saloon.  
  
To Johnny, it was if the depths of hell had suddenly opened up to enjoy the drama playing out.  
  
It was at that moment that both the assembled outlaws and Scott had their suspicions confirmed about Johnny and what his intentions were.  
  
The men assembled around the table reacted violently, overturning the furniture with guns drawn, ready to fire.  
  
The leader spat at Johnny in a fury. "You son of a bitch-"  
  
Stunned, Scott watched anxiously, unsure of what to say or do. He felt vindicated at knowing that he'd been right about Johnny all along, although, at the moment, it looked as if that fact was going to cost both of the Lancer brothers their lives.  
  
Johnny, gunfighter instincts in full play, maintained his stance. "As you said, it's a liar's game, my friend. And only one of us can remain standing at the end."  
  
"You'll pay for this, Madrid . . ." the man sneered. He overturned one of the few tables that remained standing, putting an obstacle between the gang and the Lancers.  
  
Gunfire erupted between the two camps. The combined efforts of the Sheriff, his men and the Lancers had the gang outnumbered; yet they held their own, fueled by the fury Johnny's betrayal incited.  
  
The gang leader barked out orders, struggling to be heard over the barking guns and screaming saloon patrons.  
  
"Get Madrid's brother - -"  
  
There was a growl of approval among the men and the order was carried out with practiced skill.  
  
Johnny felt as if a knife had been twisted into his gut when Scott cried out and fell back in pain. Anger welled up inside of him but before he could re-act the saloon doors opened again and more men poured in to give support to the Sheriff and his men.  
  
And then the fighting was over, just a quickly as it had started.  
  
Chaos was still the order of the day as the wounded and weeping saloon girls were helped out into the main street. At the bar, the owner sobbed at the sight of the oozing liquor bottles and damaged furniture left in the wake of the gunplay.  
  
Yet, Johnny was oblivious to everything that was going on around him. His senses were overwhelmed by the sight of his brother's blood, seeping out of the wound at Scott's temple.  
  
Johnny cursed not only the sheriff, but also himself. I've failed . . . he berated himself with a savage intensity. The whole idea of distancing himself had been to protect his family. Murdoch, Theresa . . . he'd caused all of them so much pain, how could he expect them to forgive him for being the cause of Scott's injuries?  
  
Then the Sheriff was beside him, gently moving Johnny aside so that the doctor could examine his brother.  
  
Johnny's chest felt tight as he watched the doctor gently probe Scott's wounds.  
  
He swallowed hard. With the cards he'd been dealt in life, Johnny had never put much stock in prayer or other such matters. But this time was different. This time, he hoped that, despite whatever he'd done in the past, God would make an exception and listen to a reformed outlaw's pleas.  
  
Don't die on me, Boston . . . he begged. Don't die on me . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
It was well after midnight when Johnny brought the rented buckboard to a stop in front of the ranch house. Despite the lateness of the hour, the windows were still lit up with tiny flickers of candlelight.  
  
The sight of home evoked different emotions in the Lancer brothers.  
  
For Scott, it was a joyous homecoming that not even the pain from his injuries could spoil. He'd brought Johnny home and the family was as it should be, whole and united.  
  
His brother felt quite differently.  
  
Johnny sat still in the driver's seat as a feeling of intense dread washed through him. Explanations and apologies filled his mind during the ride home, yet none of them seemed acceptable given the suffering that he'd caused everyone.  
  
From the back of the wagon, Scott studied his brother for a moment. It wasn't in character for Johnny to show how he felt but it didn't take much guessing on his part as to what his brother was feeling at the moment.  
  
Coming home won't be as bad as you think, brother . . .  
  
Scott finally spoke aloud, breaking the awkward silence.  
  
"It's time to go in, Johnny," his voice was weak.  
  
His brother's quiet words roused Johnny from his thoughts. He glanced back, swallowing hard at the sight of his brother's paleness and the bloodstained bandage at his temple.  
  
Johnny straightened in the seat. This wasn't the time to worry about what kind of reception was waiting for him inside. The important thing is to get Scott taken care of and settled in for the night . . . he thought, pushing aside the misgivings that tugged at his insides.  
  
"Your right," Johnny replied tersely, climbing down from his seat. "Time to get you in bed."  
  
Scott managed a slight nod in response before closing his eyes again. After everything that Johnny had been through, he was glad that the Sheriff had gone ahead of them to the ranch to explain what had been happening the past few weeks.  
  
Everything's been taken care of, Johnny . . . Scott thought.  
  
The hinge on the gate of the wagon groaned in protest when Johnny unlatched it.  
  
The front door opened quietly. Murdoch came out, followed by an anxious Theresa.  
  
An uncomfortable moment passed as father and son faced each other again for the first time in many days.  
  
Emotion showing in his face, Murdoch spoke first. "Welcome home, son"  
  
Welcome home . . . To Johnny's surprise there was no anger or demands for explanations. He felt the love for his sons and gratitude for their safe return in Murdoch's words.  
  
The two men embraced stiffly.  
  
"I'm proud of you, Johnny." Murdoch continued in a husky voice. "Proud of the way that you stood up to protect us." He pulled back slightly. "Promise me, though, that next time, we face whatever the past brings together - as a family."  
  
Overcome by his feelings, Johnny nodded in response. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so free inside - free of the weight of the past. The guilt he'd felt over the kind of life that he'd led, the longing for all of the things that he'd felt cheated out of - - all of that had been replaced with a genuine feeling of belonging and a sense of family, something that he'd never experienced before.  
  
Johnny Madrid is dead . . . he thought with relief. Dead and buried, never to return - -  
  
He watched for a moment as Murdoch wrapped his arms around Scott's torso so that his brother's weight could rest against him.  
  
Unshackled and free to face a new life, Johnny Lancer moved forward to help his father.  
  
The End 


End file.
